


Reflection

by kittybenzedrine



Category: Original Work
Genre: Brother-Sister Relationships, Character Death, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-22
Updated: 2014-07-22
Packaged: 2018-02-06 03:49:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1843255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittybenzedrine/pseuds/kittybenzedrine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>We were so much alike.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reflection

I sat there for a very long time, just watching her. I didn't want to talk, but then she just had to go and speak. She asked me, "Does it hurt to look at me?"

And I told her yes, it makes me sick.

She asked, "And why is that?"

I told her, it's because we look so alike. Because people see you before they see me. They call me by your name before they remember mine, because we look so alike.

 

As babies, we'd been so hard to tell apart. Mom had never done the 'twinsies' thing with us, because otherwise she'd have to check our diapers to see who was who. The moles on our sides were even in the same exact place. We were almost always the same height, hitting growth spurts right after each other.

 

She crossed her legs, leaned forward to look closer. She asked me, "Is it really that bad?"

I told her yes. They tell me to grow my hair out, wear makeup, put on more feminine clothing, because they miss you. They want to see you, just one more time, because the old family photos just don't cut it. 

 

We had never done the twinsies act as babies, so when we did it, starting when we were eleven, the novelty never wore off. She cut her hair to her shoulders, I grew mine out to my shoulders. We wore the same shirts, pants. We wore the same shoes, even. It confused the ever loving shit out of everyone. Teachers, students, strangers, even our family. We looked so much alike.

So much.

When we hit puberty, we decided on baggy shirts to hide her chest, and we both shaved our legs and armpits. I shaved my face to mask it. People could still barely tell the difference. I had a soft face for a boy, and she had an angular one for a girl.

So much alike.

 

She asked me, "Why do they miss me so much? They have a perfectly good son, bother, grandson, nephew. So why focus on me?"

I told her, it was because you were here first. They loved you first.

 

She was born twelve hours before me. Once I popped out, the novelty of new baby had worn off. I never minded that she was the favorite, until afterwards. Mom cried every time she saw me. Our older brother couldn't bring himself to speak to me whenever we saw each other. She was his favorite. So I cut my hair off. I stopped shaving my face, pits, and legs. I grew scuff on my chin, and bought a bunch of new clothes.

 

I told her, I sleep in your old room. I left everything pretty much the same. I feed your fish, keep your computer clean. I added a few new posters to the walls. Your makeup is still in the container, next to the mirror. I even kept your favorite clothes.

 

After it happened, I tore down the wooden divider between our bedrooms and sold my old bed, with the sheets still on the mattress. Mom and our older brother didn't ask. We all had our ways of coping.

 

I told her, I even wear your old shirts, sometimes. I kept all the band t-shirts. Your old clothing doesn't fit me, quite the way it fit you. I have no breasts, and less curves than you did.

 

She had dresses and skirts that she liked to wear when she went out with friends, in the rare times we dropped our twinsies routine. Her skirts were slightly tight on me, and her dresses drooped pathetically in the front.

 

She leaned forward again, her forehead almost touching mine. She seemed to be studying me. Did she realize that we have to same eyes, too?

She asked me, "Do they think I'm dead, and gone forever?" 

It told her no, but I wished she was.

 

We were so much alike. For all they knew, if I wanted to, I could be her.

 

I got up, before our heads knocked together. She did the same. I stared down at my feet. She did the same. We wore the same shoes. I walked away from her. It's not healthy to talk to her, I reminded myself. 

It's not healthy to talk to your reflection.

 

The other driver didn't have his lights on. He was drunk. Our town was far away enough from the big city that street lights were rare. They didn't see him pull out of the ditch in time. 

She was the only one that died. She didn't die painlessly or instantly. She was hurting the whole time, but I think I cried more than her. I got to hold her hand in the hospital. 

She flat lined four hours later and they couldn't revive her. At the funeral, no one could stand to look at me for long. Her best friend held my hand and cried and whispered in my ear for the millionth time that she was sorry and she should have had her brights on. I told her for the millionth time that it wasn't her fault.

 

It was a closed casket. It didn't feel like it though, because everyone saw her.

 

We were so much alike.


End file.
